


Not Home

by ScarletteStar1



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wee Reddington fic I dreamed up over the holidays...  Disclaimed as always.  And feel free to comment.  I love to hear from you...  xoxo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Home

It was a mistake to call Bianca Hartley. 

He knew almost instantly he’d made a mistake. 

Not a terrible mistake, mind you, but a mistake none the less. He could see this as he rolled from between her thighs onto his back in the hotel bed. 

“That was nice,” she purred, cuddling up in the crook of his arm. She kissed and nuzzled his neck. “You’ve still got the touch, Ray.” 

“Mmmh,” he sighed, closing his eyes and hoping it gave an impression of sated contentment and not his desperate urge to escape. It took all of his poise not to shove off the silky leg she draped over him in a move that was like a languid dance. “Shall we order some room service? A nice bottle of something? I hear the staff can do an amazing holiday repast which is not actually on the menu. Some venison dish or another that brings all the rustic charm of a country Christmas to the midst of the big city.” 

“Sounds nice,” Bianca sighed and stroked his chest. “But can’t we just lie here and relax for a bit?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really. And anyway, I don’t eat meat. When will you ever remember I don’t eat meat. Isn’t venison like Bambi or something?” 

“Hmmm. Bambi’s father, maybe,” Red muttered trying not to sound grouchy. Of course he’d forgotten Bianca didn’t eat meat. Lizzie ate almost anything so long as it wasn’t papaya or pancake. She’d been so easy to feed and care for while they were on the run. For as complex as Lizzie was emotionally, she was delightfully low maintenance when it came to most of the day to day. 

Red was distracted from his thoughts of Lizzie by Bianca’s hand on his chest. 

Bianca had pretty hands, he noticed. Long, tapered fingers with neat, healthy-looking nails. Her hands were one of the reasons Red had called her and arranged their meeting. Her hands were dainty, even unadorned, but deceptively strong from hours of work as a massage therapist and yoga instructor. He took Bianca’s hand in his and lifted it so he could consider it fully. He’d grown so used to Lizzie’s stubby, little nail beds and chewed up cuticles that it seemed positively perplexing to be holding and admiring the hand of another woman. 

He found it lacking. For all it’s loveliness, he found Bianca’s hand lacking. He sighed, kissed it, and replaced it on his chest. 

What was I thinking, he pondered. And how the fuck am I going to get out of this with any dignity, let alone without offending this delicate mimosa blossom of a lady? 

He’d been crawling out of his skin since Ressler captured Lizzie. He’d been on the phone nearly all day, every day and had worked the case from every conceivable angle. He’d attempted to cash in on numerous favors to aid in breaking her out of that confounded fortress they called the Post Office. Such a quaint and stupid name for a place so dark and destitute, a place that would surely be Lizzie’s last address unless he could figure out their next move. 

He’d paced the floors of his safe house and snapped with the ferocity of a taunted tiger at Kate and Dembe when they tried to persuade him to sit down, to rest, to eat. He’d have none of their care while his Lizzie was contained in the box. He was determined not to rest until he’d freed her, seen her to safety. Anyway, when he tried to sleep, it was fitful and he woke to nightmares of cold gunmetal being thrust between Lizzie’s shoulderblades.

Once again, and possibly for the last time, he’d put her in terrible danger and she had placed his safety and salvation above his own. He cursed her for it over and over in the nights since she’d been taken, trying to stave off his despair with anger in a gesture that always ended with his head in his hands, sobbing and cursing himself for being such a selfish fool. 

The idea of meeting Bianca in New York came to him out of sheer exhaustion and desperation. He could get a massage, have her firm hands work their magic over his knotted flesh, and share the pleasant connection they’d known in the past. She was an easy-going, uncomplicated sort, except of course for her dietary preferences. 

He knew it was not his finest plan. He knew this even as he summoned the jet and raised the cell phone to his ear. 

And here they were, in the penthouse of the Plaza. 

Pangs of guilt and remorse struck him as Bianca rubbed her pretty hands through his chest hair and nipped at his right nipple. He hated himself for wanting to fuck her again and again, for searching for a salve in the hot wetness between her legs. He knew it wasn’t right, but it seemed the only way to distract himself from his rage and grief, to give into his basest impulses and take this divinely lythe and flexible beauty to bed. 

Luxuriating in the sheets next to Bianca, in what was supposed to be post-coital bliss, he helplessly conjured Lizzie’s face. But for a glance of those quizzical eyebrows, I would move heaven and earth, he thought desolately. 

Would Lizzie ever forgive him? He wondered this as he shuddered with a sigh, instantly regretting it and hoping Bianca could not sense his bitter regret. 

Would Lizzie even care? That was really the question, he thought, aching with rue. Would she mind he had sought succor in another woman, or would she simply roll her eyes, huff a bit and go back to whatever task to which she was attending-- reading a file, searching for information on her laptop, profiling, doing a crossword. . . Did thoughts of him take up even an inch of space in that beautiful, busy, blonde head of hers? Or was she completely free up there from all the aching and longing of a love unrequited, unfulfilled? 

Oh, for just a few moments of that freedom! He thought, containing another sigh only slightly more successfully than the previous one which escaped his lips. If only he weren’t so distracted and distraught, maybe the answer would find him. 

Eight weeks they had been on the run together, hunting down Blacklisters in an attempt to clear her name. They had been so close; a mere breath or two away from exonerating her. 

He’d been determined to tell her everything the very moment after they had set things right. He’d tell her the truth about everything- their past, his secrets, and his feelings for her. He’d quivered like a schoolboy, watching over her as she slept those nights, feeling so certain that if he could just say it all she would have him.

He planned meticulously how he would clasp her to him, cleave to her as he whispered the answers to all her questions in her ear, how he would caress her hand, stroke her cheek. She’d grown so pale and grim in the past year, surely he could put some color back into her cheeks as he declared all his intentions. Surely she would return his kiss, press her body to his and yield entirely to his adoration which was big and bold as a Classical Orchestra, thick as a Victorian tome, and earnest as. . . 

Oh, Christ it didn’t even matter as long as he could hold her again. If he could just feel her breath on his skin as he memorized every little violet fleck in her eyes, if he could apologize and explain she would understand and allow. 

And he would be home. 

He would be home at last. 

He’d come close to telling her in those first weeks they were alone together. The first time was on the ship when he pointed up to Polaris with one hand and reached for her hand with his other only to find it was just out of reach. He’d taken it as a sign and choked back the words with another slice of pecan pie, and snifter of brandy. 

The other time was when they were about to apprehend Nasim. 

“Your fantasy,” he had begun. He wanted to finish the sentence by saying, “Come with me now and I will make it all so. I will give you everything- safety, a home, a family. You are my heart’s desire, Elizabeth. Allow me to fulfill yours,” but when he’d seen the confusion and fear in her eyes, he knew he could do nothing to keep her safe until she was completely free. So, even though he could have arranged to have the helicopter scoop them up without a moment’s delay, he simply finished with a sad, “It’s as it should be.” 

They had been working tirelessly and had gotten so close to the answers, to her freedom, and to one another. 

The very door to his future had been just within his grasp, when Ressler set fire to the whole structure Red had been building with painstaking precision. 

He sat up, a little more abruptly than he intended, next to Bianca. 

“Let’s have a drink, then,” he said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and strode to the crystal decanter of scotch. He sloshed a few fingers into a glass and offered it to Bianca. She had sat up and was hugging her knees to her chest under the sheet, her lips pursed in a sly smile. She shook her head. 

“No, thank you,” she said. “Come back to bed, Ray. Or would you like to watch me do some more of those naked yoga poses you enjoyed on the beach when we were in Bermuda?” 

He chuckled. “I think I’ll take a pass this time around on the naked yoga. Such things should be done purely in aquatic environs.” 

“I could run a bath?” Bianca offered. “The tub in there looks roughly the size of the Caribbean.” She stretched out her legs and the sheet slipped away from her torso. Her skin gleamed like alabaster that was coated in a sweet cream he wanted to lick and lick. But he picked his robe up from the chair upon which it was draped, sheathed his body in it and sipped his drink. 

“Really, you’re not hungry? Three hours of my most vigorous love-making and I am positively famished. I will never know how you yogis subsist merely on the air and wheat grass or whatever green glop it is you are drinking now instead of this single malt.” He took another sip, then got up and poured some more. His legs were twitching and he had to bite his lip and press his nails into his palm to keep from pacing the floor. He settled for crossing into the other room of the suite and grabbing the room service menu. 

For a moment he stood at the window, gazing upon the twinkling lights 20 stories down. There was nowhere as magical as New York at Christmas. He’d always loved spending a decadent holiday in the Big Apple. Many years ago, he’d taken his daughter to see the Nutcracker on Christmas Eve at the New York City Ballet. She’d been so very small, and by the time the curtain rose, she was exhausted, but the show so captivated her, she sat through all of it with eyes wide and enchanted as the galaxy. She’d clutched his hand in awe as the tree grew and grew three stories tall, and snowflakes fluttered through the air. 

It was one of his favorite memories. Remembering it at that moment, as he looked down on the city and heard Bianca turn on the television in the next room, it seemed squalidly juxtaposed against what would surely go down as one of his worst Christmas memories. 

The lights blinked below, and his heart beat Lizzie’s name, and his knees felt so weak. 

“Ray?” Bianca called. “Come back. It’s a Wonderful Life is on!” Her voice was so light and sweet. He went back and stood in the door. 

“I thought you people didn’t watch television,” he said, trying his best to smile at her. 

“‘You people,’” Bianca laughed. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh you know, people of the earth. You crunchy, liberal, hippie types. Isn’t TV supposed to be bad for your brain? All the negative ions and such?” He leaned in the doorway, the menu in one hand, his scotch in the other. His stomach was empty, but for the scotch, and it was going to his head. He hadn’t been eating much over the past few weeks. 

“Well, ‘we people’ make exceptions for classic holiday specials,” she giggled. Her auburn curls fell down almost to her breasts. When she’d arrived at the hotel, she’d been wearing very little makeup, just a light coat of lip gloss in a pomegranate shade that Red had roughly kissed off the second he’d gotten her alone in the room. He’d torn off her clothing, shoved her up against a wall and fucked her with her legs hooked around his waist in a brutal manner as though the police would be there any moment and he had to finish before they knocked and announced. Despite his single-minded urgency to get off, it had not slipped his attention that she must have shaved her legs for him. He’d complained at their last rendezvous in Maui that she’d gone a little too au naturale for his likes and she’d rattled off some speech about how razors and shaving are a conspiracy to tame modern women. 

She was a treasure, this Bianca. In his way, he’d adored her. He might have even loved her, if it hadn’t been for his endless journey home. She was Calypso to his Odysseus, spicey and captivating, but ultimately not Penelope. 

Neither of them had been particularly satisfied with the fucking up against the wall, so they did it again, this time with Bianca on top, practicing some of her slow, tantric tricks on his traitorous cock. He hated that it felt so good and fell asleep for a couple hours after, only to wake and take her again. It took him longer to come the third time. He wasn’t 19 anymore, and although a lusty male, three times in one night was a tall order. In the end he’d gotten frustrated and a little gruff, forcing himself into her almost angrily until he came with a muffled grunt. 

It was all just wrong. 

And the poor woman had shaved for him, compromised her platitudes to please him, wretched sod that he was. 

He was standing there, a bit lightheaded from the scotch, thinking all this when Bianca burst his thoughts. 

“Ray. Come here,” she said in a tone that was soft, but firm. He did as he was asked. “Allright. Who is she?” 

He sighed, leaning back against the bed, menu and glass still in his hands. For a moment, he contemplated pretending he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. But she was extending this gift of an opportunity. 

“I forget what an empathic soul you are, my dear,” he sighed. She took the menu out of his hand and placed it on the bed. She held his hand, opening it to stroke his palm. It was a gesture of such comfort and nurturance that it rendered him quite vulnerable. A tear escaped his eye and made its way down his cheek. 

“It doesn’t take an empath to see you are besotted and bereft, Ray,” she said. “Besides, your aura is murky. I saw it as soon as I came in. We’ve always been able to tell each other just about anything. Tell me what’s going on in that heart of yours. Maybe I can help?”

Red chortled, “I don’t think anyone could cleanse this murky aura of mine. I imagine I will be carrying this swamp of a soul around with me until the end of my days.” 

“I don’t believe that.” 

“No. You wouldn’t,” he said softly and they laid back on the bed. For a few minutes, they watched as George Bailey stood on a bridge and contemplated jumping off. “What is a gorgeous passion flower such as yourself doing here with a swampy old man anyway, Bianca?” 

“Hmmph,” she grumbled, playfully tugging his robe open and pulling on his chest hair. “You’re not that old. And you’ve got a glorious cock when you’re not using it like a battering ram,” she paused and thought for a moment, then added, “Okay, it’s glorious even when you are using it like a battering ram.” 

“So, you’re here for the sex? Don’t you want to settle down? Have a family to spend the holidays with?” 

“Well, maybe someday. But you can’t drop everything and go to a three month long retreat with wild dolphins in Bimini when you are all settled down with a family.”

“Ahh, this is true.” 

“Maybe that’s what you need, Ray. I’m leaving in two days. They say the dolphins have healing powers. I think we would have a really nice time. No strings attached.” 

“Sounds magical,” Red murmured. “But I’m afraid I have pressing business to which I must attend stateside.” 

“Your woman?” 

“Yes. I suppose so.” 

“What’s she like?” 

Red considered how he would describe Lizzie to Bianca. “Well, she’s tenacious. Almost maddeningly so,” he laughed recalling the stoic look on her face as he turned to find she’d shot Yaabari and saved his life. “She’s stronger than she thinks or knows. She’s driven and honorable. She’s delicate in a way she doesn’t want anyone to see, and most people don’t, but in her fragility there is a grace and dignity,” his voice broke as he thought again about Lizzie being contained in that cube. Bianca sensed his pain and put her arms around him. 

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered. 

“I’m not so sure,” Red replied. 

“I’ve never met anyone so passionate and strong as you, Ray. It’ll be okay because you’ll find a way and make sure of it.”

“Let’s hope you are right.” 

“And if all else fails, you could run away with me. You know how I feel about you. I could love you, and maybe even make you happy.” Her hand drifted down beneath his robe and stroked over his thighs. He sighed, but didn’t return any affection this time. “You know we would have a blast, Ray.” 

“Mmmm. Yes, we do have a nice time, Bianca. And you know how fond I am of you. It’s just,” he trailed off, not knowing how to kindly or even politely put it. 

She finished the sentence for him, “I’m not her.” 

“I was going to say ‘not home,’ but yes, I suppose that is also true.” 

“Then why don’t you go home, Ray?” 

“I’m trying all the time, Sweetheart. All the time.” 

“Well, let’s get you something to eat anyway,” Bianca said, holding up the menu and looking genuinely unperturbed by his pining. “Should I order you the venison and a bottle of Syrah or this Grenache?” 

“Why don’t you pick for me? I think I’m going to take a shower and clean up a bit,” Red said. He was tired, but he did feel a bit cheered and encouraged. Maybe this hadn’t been his worst idea afterall. Maybe he would get a little sleep tonight for the first time in weeks, with a full stomach for the first time in weeks. 

In the morning, he could wake up fresh and get back on the road to resume his journey home.


End file.
